Deep Beneath: A Psychic Vision Novel

by Dale Mayer

  Just then the back door to the kitchen burst open. Samson and Bruce hopped to their feet to see two men enter, both armed.

  Whimsy gasped and froze in place. Patrick McConnel, the security guard. Just what the hell was going on?

  Patrick turned his gun slowly from person to person, and, when he saw her, an ugly smile crept across his face. He pushed the gun closer toward her. “You. I finally found you.”

  She stiffened. “You may have found me, Patrick, but I sure as hell don’t know why you care.”

  “How did you get past the dogs?” Samson growled. “Did you kill them?”

  “Nope but I will. We stunned them. He held up a stun gun. “Now you have something of ours,” he said. He motioned at the other man.

  Holding a gun on Bruce, the second man walked toward her. He grabbed the shoulder of her shirt and ripped it free.

  Samson growled and took a step, but the second gunman turned his weapon on him to stop him.

  Whimsy cried out as her injured shoulder was jerked hard. She stared down at it. “What are you doing?”

  “We want something from you,” he said.

  Samson stepped toward her once more. Patrick turned his gun on Samson. “Don’t bother saving her,” he said. “I’d just as soon put a bullet in all of you. I see you already found the one we tried to kill earlier. Tough bugger if he’s still alive.”

  Samson growled again in the back of his throat.

  The gunman shrugged. “I don’t care how pissed you are. I’ll leave her alive if I get what I want. But, if you make any move to stop us, I’ll just put a bullet in her head. It makes my job a hell of a lot easier.” Patrick looked at his partner. “Kevin check her over.”

  “She’s got a bandage on her shoulder.”

  “Remove it,” Patrick ordered his partner.

  She barely had a chance to grit her teeth when the bandage was ripped off. She cried out in pain.

  Patrick looked at her and nodded. “Looks like she took a bullet in the shoulder. “That’s exactly where I wanted it.”

  “She did,” Samson stated, his voice hard. “I had to cut it out from the back. It got lodged there and didn’t quite go through.”

  “It’s not meant to,” Patrick said walking to Whimsy’s side. He pushed on the wound, making her cry out even more.

  She reached up, grabbing his hand, trying to fight him off.

  He lifted his gun, putting the barrel against her temple. “It’ll be a hell of a lot easier for me to do this if you’re dead—or maybe just this.” He whacked her hard across the head with the butt of his gun.

  She cried out as the pain sent her collapsing to the floor.

  *

  Samson roared and jumped forward. A bullet shot over his head, just barely missing him. He hit the floor and bounced to his feet, already ten feet closer to where she was. And this time, two guns faced him.

  He glared at Patrick. “There’s no need to hurt her. If you want the goddamn tracking device, I found it when I pulled out the bullet.”

  “Where is it?” Patrick said. “We need it.”

  Shit, they planned to take away the evidence. Samson slowly got to his feet. “It’s in my lab. I’ll get it.”

  With the other gunman walking closely behind Samson, he walked into the lab and pulled out an old ashtray that had been around since forever. He brought it back out to the main room.

  Kevin took the ashtray with the tiny flattened microdot in the center of it and walked over to his buddy. “Does that look like it?”

  Patrick nodded and grinned. “That’s it.” He pressed his thumb flat against it, picked it up and slipped it into a little Ziploc baggie he had, then pocketed it. “Perfect. I can see you tried to destroy it. And you might have confused us for a while but not that long.”

  Samson knew where this was going. “Before you shoot us all,” he said with a snarl, “maybe you should tell us just what the hell this is all about. And why the hell did you shoot her, when you were likely close enough to rescue her instead?”

  “We’re government,” Kevin said. “Black ops. No need to tell you what division because you won’t know it anyway. We were told to take her out. She was interfering in something she shouldn’t have.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Samson stared at him. “She doesn’t make trouble for anyone. Besides taking her out is hardly putting a tracking device on her.”

  “Maybe, but the professor hates her, and that’s enough,” Patrick said. “Once she started getting that nutty professor of hers going, it caused the government all kinds of trouble. We needed it to go away. The best way is for her to go away. You don’t get to question our reasons or methods.”

  Samson shook his head, not sure what the hell was going on. “And that’s it? You followed the tracking device here. You tried to kill this kid who wasn’t involved in anything, and now you’re about to shoot all of us because she did something to cause you trouble?”

  “That’s about it,” Patrick said, grinning. “It doesn’t take much really.”

  “Doesn’t take anything at all apparently,” Samson said, “because that’s just ridiculous. We aren’t doing anything to hurt you. We don’t know anything about her thesis or what her area of research is.” He was in complete disbelief. “We have nothing to do with this.”

  Patrick continued to grin. “Don’t worry. We’re not supposed to kill you before the nutty professor says so. Making sure he can get the passwords and whatever else he needs.”

  So Patrick was smug enough to talk before going on his killing spree. Interesting. Then Samson realized it had nothing to do with her thesis. “What’s this really about?” He crossed his arms over his chest, studying the room, trying to find any way to make this go in a different direction. “What is this really all about?” he repeated. “This has nothing to do with her research. It’s more likely got something to do with this island, my research center and that platform that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Your island?” Patrick asked in surprise.

  Samson gave a clipped nod. “Yes, my private island. Obviously you didn’t do your own research if you don’t know that fact. But then, that figures, right? You just follow orders. It doesn’t matter if the orders are correct or not. What are you, some disgruntled former military man?”

  That wiped the grins off the gunmen’s faces.

  “Then you could at least tell us what we’re dying for,” Bruce, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, protested. Samson tried to decipher the peculiar look on Bruce’s face. He was studying the men like they were odd specimens he hadn’t seen before. Is that why he’d stayed silent? Bruce was abrupt and didn’t suffer fools easily but then he was always the one to look for an angle.

  “This is ridiculous. I just came here for a visit. I’m from one of the other islands. I don’t have anything to do with this. Neither did my poor assistant. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  Patrick glanced at the kid on the floor and shrugged. “Once we toss him back into the water, it won’t matter. He’ll drown this time for sure.” Patrick faced Whimsy. “Although we might keep her.”

  Samson stiffened.

  Patrick noticed and chuckled. “Not for that. Maybe you’ll all become test subjects.”

  “So you’ll test us by throwing us into the water, watching us drown, seeing if we survive and get pushed back to the island?”

  Instantly Patrick’s cocky demeanor dropped away. “What do you know about that?”

  Samson slowly raised his eyebrows as he studied them. “I don’t know much of anything,” he protested. “I know that she arrived on my beach. She had a tracking chip in her shoulder, and here you guys show up, trying to take it away.”

  “Right. She’s important for a couple reasons. We needed to know what would happen if she was tossed into the ocean and we needed her out of sight so no one else would know what she could do. She’s different, you see?” Patrick said.

  “I know she’s different,�
�� Samson said slowly. “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “She’s special, according to the nutty professor,” Patrick said with a shrug. “Of course, no one is really sure they believe him but as long as he brings in the research money … no one really gives a shit. Except if he’s correct, and of course, the rest of the company need time to find that out—he has to keep her out of sight so others don’t try to take over the project.”

  “Wait,” Samson said, holding up a hand. “Are you talking about Dr. Strauss? Why would any sane part of the government want anything to do with him?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Strauss is nuttier than a fruitcake, crazy as a loon.” Patrick tilted his head to his partner, who nodded. “The nutty professor saw how she always had this really weird ability to calm things down. He noticed her effect on him, other students and particularly her boyfriend. Who he claims was a loud angry braggart before Strauss hooked the two of them up. Of course he did that on purpose. She seemed to calm down situations that needed moderating. We wondered if it had anything to do with her personality or her energy. He found an article about her drowning and then being resuscitated when she was a child. He was fascinated and couldn’t let it go. Not that I understand the energy bit.

  “He’s been working alongside her for many years now, testing her energy anytime she came into class. But we needed to track her. We thought that was all, honestly. But, when she went underwater, we saw her drowning. When she washed up on shore, we knew. It was pretty amazing because something in that water kept her alive. She should have drowned in ten minutes, a bit more than twenty for sure, ’cause that’s the world record for holding your breath. She was underwater exactly twenty-seven minutes. I timed it.

  “When I told the professor, he kept saying, It was the energy. It was the energy. But we figured it was a dolphin or something like that. The nutty professor said there’s no way. It had to be a lot more than that. And he wanted access to this research center to see what you were up to. When we’ve secured the place, he’s going to come and visit himself. And help himself to your research.”

  What was that about Whimsy having drowned before? “Nobody gets access to my research or to my lab,” Samson said, still confused as hell but starting to get seriously angry.

  “Well, somebody is going to,” Patrick stated, “whether you like it or not.”

  “Do you have anything to do with that platform in the bay off the island?” Samson asked the two gunmen.

  “Yes, at least the not nutty professor does.” The two men shook their heads. “They are a pair.”

  “What?” Samson started at them in shock. “Who is the not nutty professor?”

  The two men just glared at him.

  “What difference is it if you tell me. You know you’re not going to let us live. Surely satisfying our curiosity won’t hurt.”

  “Maybe it would,” Patrick snapped.

  “No it wouldn’t.” Samson needed to know what was really going on.

  “Two profs, same university, same project. But one is sane and normal and the other is nuts. One has moved the project ahead and the other one is stuck going in circles. One has the platform as part of the project and the nutty one thinks it’s stupid. But it’s affecting the weather which is affecting the pulses and wave patterns … it needs work but there is progress and they are getting answers. Who has answers has final control …” Patrick grinned. “And I can’t tell you who the other prof is as he’s going to be the last one standing at the end of the day.”

  “And the nutty professor doesn’t know that his time is coming to an end? That his partner in this business is cutting him out?”

  “No, the nutty one is done. We can’t ever get a straight answer from him. The guy is really loopy. But he has looped in enough private little government ears that they are worried about him so have made bigger arrangements with the sane one. Between you and me, I don’t think Strauss will live through this visit to your research center, the government knows how whacked he is. Talk about a huge liability,” he said. “But, at the same time, none of you can be allowed to live either.”

  “You said she could live if we let you take the tracker.”

  “She’s one a hell of a test subject. Like I said, it’s not the first time she drowned.”

  Samson’s eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t heard about that.” He glanced at her, but she was still out cold. She’d mentioned her sister drowning—but not herself.

  “I might leave her alive,” Patrick said. “But I think everybody will want to see her tested again. I wonder how many times she can drown before it takes?” He looked at his buddy nonchalantly. “What do you bet? Three, four?”

  “We didn’t expect her to survive the last time,” said the other gunman. “So, if she can repeat that, it’s probably endless.”

  “Imagine what her nightmares are like,” Patrick said with a chuckle.

  Samson glared at them. He was only getting bits and pieces of information, but it was scary shit. And what did any of this have to do with that platform? “So what is the professor doing with the undertow currents that he thinks she can be affected by?”

  “All I know is he’s pulsing energy,” Patrick said. “But I’m not sure I understand how or why. Something about being on the plates giving him a better energy response. He says he can react, hold, retain the energy much better here close to the plates. Of course, part his work is being copied and repeated with the platform and the other professor. See, they work together, the one with the platform and the one without. According to Strauss the platform is useless but the other professor has proven he’s wrong. That the platform has built the waves higher, stronger, and hold the energy much longer using the EMP pulsing.”

  Samson frowned. “But that should be the opposite. Already we’re having a lot of activity on the plates. Trying to direct that activity won’t be easy,” he warned.

  “Not sure it’s even possible, but, when you get somebody that crazy who sees an idea that’s so far out, but wonders if it’s possible, then the government gives all kinds of money to test it. Hence, the nutty professor and his not so nutty partner. But then he’s also got a bee in his bonnet about this woman, saying she has to drown. Not sure if it’s personal or professional, but I know, for a fact, he hates her guts.” Patrick shrugged. “So to get what the government wants, they are willing to cater to the nutty professor’s needs. … At least for a while.”

  “He wants to drown her for real because she caught him screwing his student in an office at the university,” Samson said quietly. “It’s nothing more than revenge, protecting his tenure. He’s just another lowlife. One of many in this world. And it looks like you are two more of them.”

  The gunmen shrugged. “Sticks and stones,” Patrick said with a smirk. “Doesn’t matter what you say. We’re on a job.”

  “Maybe,” Samson said.

  Patrick turned away and walked toward his buddy.

  Just then Bruce rose, a piece of firewood in his hand and attacked Patrick, as Samson, a split second behind, dove after the other one. Both gunmen went down, not at all used to taking a hit like they did right now. But Samson didn’t hold back. This was way too important, involving everyone’s lives here, his research, this ecosystem that was his island. He had had enough experience to give these guys a good fight, and, catching the second man on the side of the neck with a hard blow, he’d gone down, stunned. Samson knocked him out from there. He grabbed his gun and held it on Patrick as Bruce wrestled with him. As soon as Samson saw an opening, he stepped forward and clipped Patrick on the head with the butt of the gun. Returning the favor for what he did to Whimsy.

  Patrick went down.

  Samson stepped back, looked at Bruce and said, “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I want it to fucking end—and now.”

  Chapter 25

  Whimsy slowly unfroze. Moving gently because of her shoulder, she gained her footing and turned to look at the
two gunmen, now secured under Bruce’s and Samson’s watch.

  “Do we get to know why they are here?” she asked, her voice harsh, her hand gently holding her shoulder.

  Samson raced to her, his gaze going to her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I am. I just won’t use this arm for the next week.”

  He quickly explained what he’d learned.

  She gave a broken laugh. Feeling faint with the sharp jagged pain still running through her system, she sat at the kitchen table and studied the two gunmen. “So Professor Strauss sent you?”

  Only one of the two men was conscious. Patrick looked to be out cold. The other man glared at her but didn’t answer.

  “So his private donors sent you then?”

  He still didn’t say anything, but he now looked at Samson, who was busy rifling through the gunmen’s wallets.

  “Patrick said he and his buddy work for the US government and for Strauss up to a point.” Samson got what he needed, pulling out IDs. “I have names, and they belong to Northern Global,” Samson said. “Some electromagnetic R&D company.” He stared at it and frowned. “I don’t know that company.”

  Kevin snorted. “Why would you? You’re so buried in your own research that you have no idea what else is going on.”

  “It makes no sense to have pulses sent back and forth through the sound. It’ll completely mess up the animals’ ecosystems,” Samson snapped.

  “We’re not concerned about the mammals,” he said, “unless they’re responding to our signal. In which case, we need the mammals to do what we need them to do.”

  “What is that?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently getting them to follow instructions. Like they did when they pushed you out of the water and dumped you on the sand.”

  “What if the animals had killed me instead of saving me?” Whimsy snapped.

  “Well, that was one of the tricks of research, isn’t it? We didn’t know which way it would go. We didn’t care either way. But with that chip, we could track where you ended up.”